


Mayday

by c3mf



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, Laura Richardson, ex-wife # 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c3mf/pseuds/c3mf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For better for worse, in sickness and in health... Just because they're divorced doesn't mean she didn't take her vows seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mayday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linguini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/gifts).



If there’s one thing Laura Richardson knows it’s the sight of Douglas in distress. She can see it in the set of his jaw and the line of his shoulders, the tightness at the corners of his eyes. It’s there in the way he lifts his chin, just so, when all she does is arch her brow at him. A divorce doesn’t erase twelve years of marriage and she knows all of his tells. Not that it’s difficult to read him this time--anyone who doesn’t think there isn’t anything wrong with their ex showing up on their doorstep at half-two in the morning unannounced is either blind or terminally stupid. Probably both.

“Hello,” he says. His voice is as tight as the rest of him--strained and worn round the edges and about ten seconds from breaking. 

Surprisingly, the patience and the calm come automatically--old habits, etc. “What is it?” is all she asks. 

His hands are clenching and trembling at his sides, spine straight as a hot poker--but it’s the panic rolling off him that does her in. “Bad day,” he tells her. Swallows and jerks his chin up. He doesn’t have to say anything else--she knows his standard fallback for bad days, knows how it unravels him not to have it anymore. Because really, why go to all the trouble of hunting down distraction when it can be neatly poured into a tumbler and knocked back. She can see the exact moment the fear takes hold and he realizes he’s let his hand slip a bit too far. 

There’s the entirety of their marriage, prettily packaged and tied off with a bow. He’d always pulled away because he couldn’t stand to give up control and she’d followed because if she just tried a little harder, loved him just a little more, she could fix him.

Maybe that was exactly the problem. She still wanted to believe she could and even when he’d hit rock bottom she’d never been able to turn him away, not really. Closed doors don’t equal closed hearts, not by a mile. Especially not when he was the one who finally came looking for her. And he tried, she knew he did. She still has his first year chip tucked away in a drawer in the kitchen. 

So when she waves him in and his shoulders settle the instant he steps over the threshold, her heart aches. “Go on,” she tells him. “You can show yourself through.”

And he does, without a blink or a word of protest. 

He’s sat at the kitchen table when she comes in, uniform jacket still buttoned and hands fisted, white-knuckled on the tabletop. She doesn’t say anything, just turns the kettle on and waits for it to boil. When it’s ready, she brings the tea over, pushes a mug at him she knows he won’t touch, and folds herself into the chair next to him.

He doesn’t say thank you, but he never does and she doesn’t expect him to. She just slides her hand over his, watching as the tension drains from his spine, and tells him, “I have control.” Because she always has, and no matter how long gone he is, no matter whose ring he wears on his finger, he’s hers and he _trusts_ her. 

Immediately, he deflates, breath leaving him in a shaky sigh, shoulders sagging, and when he clings to her hand, she just squeezes back harder and doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. He may always know precisely what he wants, but she’s always known what he needs. So she’ll give somewhere safe to break, somewhere quiet to piece himself back together and she’ll wait it out with him. She did it for nearly two decades, what’s another night?

Their teas go cold, the silence settles in for the long haul, and morning when it comes is a little too soon, a little too bright. 

But he doesn’t let go and neither does she. That’s how it’s always been, probably always will be. Because if there’s one thing Laura Richardson knows it’s the sight of Douglas out of the danger zone, relaxed and contented and unafraid.

And right now, that’s enough.


End file.
